 Manuel Fajar 2005-04-02 . chapter 1upon those dreams that woven tapestries,
reveal old tales of loves and woes begone,
of those,—those images so dear to life,
green elves,—spry and sly device to treasure,
for that day realization wakes bright,
with understanding that was written bold,
in a rune no mortal can decipher,
for eternity requires its self known,
to divulge secrets hidden deep in heart,
as Fate does as She weaves her magic strands,
running shuttle back-&-forth across loom,
so many hues,—of copper, silver, gold,
enthralling all our deep desires unbid,
'til avid of love's balm we come to rest,
banners ripped by airs forgotten ages. |